A la Recherche de la Lindsay Perdue
what the ever loving fuck
can we do?
You were our Emma Stone!
no-nonsense hot bitch
with non-dead eyes.
Once, twice, six times in rehab!
Your braless boobs begging
for a bustier
your hair like iridescent straw
color shifting according to the winds.
The topography of that
as varied as our continent—
peaks of fillers
of cigarette wrinkles
and the craters
of your sleepless
How we’ve rooted for you!
Even watched Liz & Dick
half-hoping for virtuosity
to shake us ironic shitheads
out of our seats with slow clapping.
Did not Oprah tell you to cut
the bullshit? Wagon after wagon
abandoned, you fallen, scraped
and lying from any vehicle
Were that there were two of you,
à la your pièce de résistance Parent Trap,
a twin unawares, adopted, outside
of twitchy mad validation casa Lohan,
to swoop in like a scab
while Lilo continues her strike on life,
a new Lindsay unsullied by opiated
ass kissers, to fulfill the promise
of the red-headed Mean Girl
while the genuine article
steeps in the obscurity
of lunch shift Denny’s waitress.
Follow Christina Shideler on Twitter